Vault of Verona: Vault of Verona

By Marissa Price

How is this happening? How can I possibly be in a time 600 years before my own?

Harriet Hunter is living the life of an everyday teenager. In her final year of high school, Harriet is under pressure to balance friends, family, study and life. But all is not as it seems, and Harriet soon finds herself sucked back into a centuries o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marissa Price
• Release date: Jul 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9780648127918

Marissa Price

Marissa Price is an emerging young adult fiction writer. She is passionate about creating stories that resonate with the young adult age group. As a high school English teacher, she loves nothing more than seeing young people enjoy reading, and her students often inspire her to keep creating. As many authors describe, Into the Abyss: Vault of Verona flowed out in a fever of creation that wouldn't be appeased. Marissa has several university degrees and has been professionally published in journals about international relations, world security and politics. Marissa enjoys escaping into a good book, and loves to ignite the pleasure of reading and writing in young people. She wants to unique and interesting places for readers to escape for generations to come.

Book preview

Into the Abyss

Vault of Verona

Marissa Price

The Literature Factory

Publishing Division

27 Hudson Way, Ningi

Queensland, Australia 4511

www.theliteraturefactory.com.au

This paperback edition published 2017

Published by The Literature Factory, 2017

Copyright © Marissa Price 2017

Marissa Price asserts the right to be identified as the author of this work in any and all contexts that it may be used

This novel is entirely a work of fiction, based on the original play of William Shakespeare titled ‘Romeo and Juliet’. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination, with the exception of the aforementioned links with William Shakespeare’s original play. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or events is entirely coincidental.

A catalogue record for this book is available at the State Library of Queensland

Paperback ISBN 978-0-6481279-0-1

eBook ISBN 978-0-6481279-1-8

Hardcover ISBN 978-0-6481279-4-9

Printed by IngramSpark

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For my family

Glenn, Cayla and Cameron

Into the Abyss

Vault of Verona

Chapter One

Harriet Hunter threw herself down onto her bed, crushing the stray clothes and dog eared novels scattered across the blanket. Though the clothes overflowed from Harriet’s dresser drawers onto the timber floorboards of her room, her collection of soccer and dancing medals from years past stood neatly in rows on the shelves of her desk. Everything had a place in Harriet’s world, it just wasn’t always in it.

She sighed loudly as she yanked a folded sheet of paper from the backpack tossed haphazardly beside the bed. Another English assignment. It felt like just yesterday that Harriet had finished an English exam: how could it possibly be time for another? Scowling, Harriet rolled over and concentrated on reading the instructions at the top of the paper. Romeo and Juliet. Great. If ever there was a story where women were meek, mild and boring, this was it. Who stabs themselves in the heart just because some guy with a fancy hairdo and a cape drank some poison? Honestly.

Harriet humphed as she flipped over to the criteria page, scowling as she hunted for the word count. Rewrite part of Shakespeare’s play using an example Mrs Wellington had not covered in class, in 600 words or less. No problem.

Harriet was an exceptional writer. She sat up, just a little bit brighter that her whole weekend wasn’t lost, and eased her laptop out of the computer bag. She briefly considered what her mother would say if she could see her now. There would be plenty about how much her desk had cost, and how slouching causes bad posture. But the bed was just so much more inviting. Settling herself comfortably with her back to the head board, Harriet tapped ‘Harrypotter’ into the password box and hit enter, her tongue between her teeth. Snatching up a pencil from the bedside table, Harriet tapped the criteria page, searching for a story option that caught her interest.

Hmmm…nope, Harriet muttered to herself, as she crossed out the option of Juliet marrying Paris. Boring.

Harriet scanned down the page, rejecting suggestion after suggestion until she was out of ideas. None of the predefined concepts caught her interest, or inspired her to begin writing. She considered the last option, an open invitation to fracture the story in some way. She tapped her pencil against her computer as her brain whirred, sifting through the character types they had read in class. She certainly didn’t want to write about a meek Juliet, or about a Romeo whom she had perceived as a spoilt young man with a thirst for violence. Harriet was much more interested in strong women, people like Emma Watson who stood up for what they believed in. But Emma was a modern woman, and she had to deal with one stuck back in the middle ages.

Harriet’s brain snapped into focus like the last line falling into place on a Rubix cube. There was no reason why she couldn’t change the characters to make them more modern…she could create an interesting, dynamic Juliet who wouldn’t back down from a fight with anyone.

Make Juliet’s character into a modern woman, Harriet mused. Interesting. This might just do. Harriet slapped a piece of scrap paper on the lid of her laptop and sketched a few quick ideas. She drew a passable sketch of Juliet’s face, although something looked a little wonky or lopsided, like most of Harriet’s attempts at art. The face that emerged wasn’t the face of Olivia Hussey in the 1968 film version they’d watched in class. Nor was it the image of Claire Danes, who’d acted alongside Leo and worn those feathered wing things. It was a strong face that appeared – it was the image of a woman who knew what she wanted. A firm chin, mobile mouth and spirited eyes stared back from the paper at Harriet. Long brown hair, fierce brows and high cheekbones completed the drawing. Harriet pursed her lips as she shaded in the last of the hair, and tilted her head as she scribbled. Unwittingly, she had created an image that melded elements of what looked like her own face with those she imagined Juliet possessed. Or would have possessed anyway, if she’d had a spine of her own and had stood up to the myriad of people who wanted to run her life for her.

Harriet wouldn’t consider herself a feminist. Not in the way that traditional feminists were viewed anyway. She thought of herself as more of an equalist, if there was such a thing. Men and women, navigating the world together on terms that suited them individually. She’d never understood why girls couldn’t play soccer, or boys couldn’t dance ballet. She’d done both, and although she hadn’t been the best at either one, she’d had fun.

There had been something about the story of Romeo and Juliet that had irked Harriet as the class worked their way through the laborious Shakespearean text. More, it had rankled that the other girls in her class had seemed unconcerned about how Juliet was portrayed. They didn’t see anything unusual or wrong in Juliet’s actions and choices, or the way she meekly accepted the edicts of the men around her. Even her ultimate act of impassioned suicide was spurred on by the loss of a man. Sure, Romeo was a pretty good catch, all things considered. But whether it’s really worth dying for the lost love of another was a bit of a stretch. And there had to be a better way to get out of marrying Paris than pretending to kill yourself. Such a risky endeavour, especially in medieval Italy.

Harriet’s classmates had snickered when she’d offered her thoughts on that matter. She could still see Gracie Finkle smirking at her from between two of the most popular boys in the grade. They were boys who would never look twice at Harriet. She knew it, and so did Gracie Finkle. Harriet constantly told herself that she didn’t care anyway, they were boys and they were gross. But there was a little part of Harriet that was starting to care, and it irritated her. 

Harriet was jolted from her reverie by her father’s voice booming up the stairway towards her bedroom. Dinner was ready, and she was expected, pronto. Harriet tucked the drawing into the side of her folded laptop, threw the computer carelessly on the bed and headed downstairs for dinner.

Logan Hunter was standing in the kitchen, portioning out mashed vegetables and pork chops.  Harriet swiped a finger through the steaming mashed potatoes as her father turned back to put the frying pan on the stove.

I saw that.

Harriet smiled cheekily, as Logan turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

In the distance, Harriet heard the front door slam shut and the jingle of her mother’s keys.

I’m home, she called out, appearing around the corner and into the dining room. She was balancing mountains of paperwork, a laptop and a handbag in her arms. Logan rushed to help his wife unload her bags as Harriet scooped up the silverware from the kitchen counter.

Where are the monsters? Harriet asked, registering the unusual quiet in the lower level of the house. Her question was answered by the whooping of her two brothers who had spied their mother from outside. They came rushing in from the sunny backyard, still light but with the lengthening shadows of a long summer. Carolyn Hunter kissed her boys on the cheek as they danced around her, each one as filthy as the next. She laughed.

Wash your hands, boys, she said, kissing her husband’s cheek as well. She ran her hand over Harriet’s long brown hair as she walked past, setting the table for dinner.

Logan returned to the kitchen and finished dishing out the peas.

What did you do today, Harriet? he asked, deftly catching a stray pea as it tried to escape from one of the plates.

Nothing, really, Harriet said in a non-committal tone. Logan exchanged a look with his wife over Harriet’s head. Carolyn shook hers.

Surely you did something, sweetie! Carolyn said in a bright voice. Harriet didn’t respond. They’d had this argument before, and she wasn’t looking to get into it again. Last time she’d almost been forced to join the school netball team. Harriet shuddered.

I have an English assignment to do, Harriet said, trying to distract her parents. I have to rewrite Romeo and Juliet in some other way. I thought about making Juliet a little more modern, and a little less of a door mat.

Carolyn pursed her lips. She glanced at Logan before she answered. That sounds like a great idea, she said, watching her husband’s reaction. He grunted.

Never understood why he didn’t check a little more thoroughly that she was dead in the first place, he said, transferring plates from the counter to the table. But I don’t remember the story very well; it’s been a while since I was in high school.

Mason and Tristan tumbled back into the dining room, hands clean from scrubbing. They sat down in their chairs, chattering to each other like little monkeys. Harriet and her parents took their seats.

You know, said Carolyn. I never understood why you stopped playing soccer. So they weren’t going to avoid this again.

Wasn’t interested, Harriet replied, through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

But…aren’t you bored? Carolyn asked, her brow wrinkled. All you ever do is read books.

That’s not a bad thing, Carolyn, Logan replied in a mild tone. I quite enjoy a good book myself.

Yes honey, said Carolyn, a note of impatience in her tone. But Harriet is a young lady, she should be out with her friends, shopping, playing netball, even dancing. What about looking into dancing again, Harriet?

Logan sat silently, cutting his meat as Harriet made a production out of chewing her food.

I don’t really think I’d be any good at it now, Mum, Harriet said, finally. I’m not stick thin, and all the girls my age are getting up on pointe shoes now. I’d be like a dancing elephant.

Logan frowned at the last comment. Carolyn blew out an exasperated breath.

Well that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? You’re built well for dancing!

I have your thighs…isn’t that what you always say? And you refuse to wear a swimsuit because of those thighs. I refuse to wear a leotard and prance around in tights and little else.

The boys were watching the exchange between Harriet and their mother, their heads whipping back and forth like spectators at a tennis match. Harriet’s face was mulish and threatened a brewing storm, and Carolyn’s wasn’t far behind. They’d always clashed, ever since Harriet was a little girl. Her grandmother said it was because they were so similar, but Harriet thought she was more like her father.

It wouldn’t hurt to try something new, would it Harriet? Logan said, sensing impending doom and desperately trying to avoid it.

Harriet had heard enough. She always felt like she wasn’t enough, like she didn’t do what was expected of her as her mother’s daughter. She pushed back from the table.

Thanks for dinner Dad, she said, her tone soft and a little shaky. I’m going to go up to bed, I’ve had enough…to eat. May I please be excused? It came out more as a demand than a question.

Logan sighed wearily and glanced at his wife. Carolyn remained silent, her eyes locked on her daughter’s face.

Go, Logan said, his tone softer than his words. Harriet knew that he tried to keep the peace, and felt sorry for her role in his need to do that. It was difficult to control her responses and she knew that another prod from her mother would send her temper soaring. Harriet deposited her plate on the bench and took the steps to her room two at a time. She swung her door shut behind her and flung herself down on her bed, face first. Screaming silently into the pillow, she let out the frustration that these encounters with her mother created in her. Both were strong women, and for that reason they clashed on a regular basis. It frustrated Harriet no end, and she felt as though she would never be good enough for her mother just as she was. Carolyn was a partner working at a top tier law firm, an important and powerful woman in her professional sphere. Harriet knew that her mother wanted that kind of success for her, but for now, Harriet just wanted to enjoy herself. She’d seen what it had taken for her mother to reach the top of the corporate ladder and she wasn’t sure she wanted that kind of life for herself. She dreamt of writing – her own stories out there for other people to enjoy.

A tinkling ding from Harriet’s bedside table caught her attention. She rolled her head to the side and opened one eye. She saw that a message had flashed up on the screen, and Harriet grabbed the phone and partly sat up to read it. It was from Tessa, Harriet’s closest friend. Despite her mood, she grinned as she read Tessa’s latest gripe about her boyfriend, Todd. Though Harriet was glad she didn’t have to deal with the seemingly constant drama of having a boyfriend, she was a little envious at times of the dates Tessa went on with Todd. All of the girls in her grade seemed to be pairing off with the boys, though Harriet doubted that they all really liked each other. It was a status symbol to have a boyfriend, and the girls who didn’t were looked at askance. Harriet felt the judgment as she walked to her locker alone, or as she moved between classes without someone hanging off her arm. It bothered her, but not enough for her to pretend that she liked any of the boys who had asked her out. Especially Gideon White. They’d been friends since the first grade, for goodness sake. There was no way that she’d view him as anything more than a brother, no matter how hard their friends pushed to get them together.

Harriet settled in for a fast paced text conversation and soon forgot about Gideon, the fight with her parents and the paper peeking out the side of her laptop. Even as she grew tired and settled down into her pillows, the assignment remained forgotten, obscured by talk of plans for trips to the beach on the school holidays. As Harriet’s eyes grew heavy, she reached out instinctively to put her phone on the charger, then snuggled deeper into her pillows. Before long she was asleep, the Romeo and Juliet assignment left to another day.

Chapter Two

The storm that echoed the one in Harriet’s heart flew through her open windows in the early hours of the morning. Usually at this time, the Tasmanian air was still, heavy and laden with the promise of a new day. But in the wee hours of this morning, the air was alive, kicked up by squally winds that made Harriet’s curtains billow. Although the thunder rumbled and the lightening flashed, there was only a light